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“I want to kiss you, Ellis,” he whispers. That warmth doubles and my entire body feels like it’s on fire and suspended over araging river–a river I would really like to drown in. “I just don’t want you to compare me to a serial killer. You so clearly watch those crime documentaries and probably know how to fight back. I need to make sure this is okay.”
His eyes are heated and vulnerable, chest rising and falling like the tide as I lean in. “It’s okay,” I answer, my voice so low I struggle to hear it.
It’s all the confirmation he needs.
When his lips press against mine–gentle and seeking–I find myself lost to the feel of his hands dragging up higher on my thighs and pulling me in. My hands are on his chest, exploring the warmth of his skin and the muscles beneath.
That gentle pressure changes, becoming hungrier, and I almost bring my hands up to tangle them in his hair before I remember all the hair dye. I rest my hands around the back of his neck instead, pushing closer as a low rumble sounds from deep in his throat, spiking my blood with purewant.
I’m grappling for control, not sure I even want it when a horrible thought crosses my mind.
This is not a good idea.
This is reckless.
I pull away, staring down at his swollen lips, those insane eyelashes, and the way he looks like he just ran a marathon. “Sorry,” I say, not really knowing what I’m apologizing for.
“For kissing me?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
My brow furrows–an uncomfortable feeling stirring in my gut. It’s like the old Ellis is creeping back in–the one that needs to be steady and responsible.
“For stopping,” I clarify.
Finn lets out a breathy chuckle, placing his hands on his knees again and giving me the freedom to step away. I don’t, though.
I don’t want to be the old Ellis, either. I want to be whatever–whoever I am with him.
“You’re welcome to stop,” he says. “You’re also welcome to walk out the door if you so choose, Ellis. Though I have to admit, I don’t regret kissing you. Not in the slightest.”
I smile, those feelings of doubt draining away at the softness in his deep voice, the way he’s looking at me–confessing to feelings I’m having too. “Okay,” I finally respond. “No more documentaries for me. You were right to guess that.”
I lean down, throwing my entire being into the kiss. This time, that doubt is nowhere to be found as he brings his hands to the back of my legs and pulls me in. His touch is more demanding, as if I’ve given him permission to take more control, and I like it.
An involuntary noise sounds from my throat–dark and needy as his hands tighten on my thighs. My hands are all over his chest, his arms–mapping out the tattoos I’ve yet to ask questions about.
Griffin leans back. His fingers tighten, urging me forward. Without thinking, I move–straddling him while his tongue trails over my bottom lip.
He groans when my body lowers, his hands now firmly planted on my waist.
Breaking the kiss, he keeps his mouth just inches from mine. I want to drag him back to me.
“Shit,” he mutters, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m on his lap feeling exactly what the kiss has done to him.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
Finn shakes his head, his lip pulling up at the corner and creating one more smile for me to pocket and keep forever.
“Stop fucking apologizing, Ellie.” His hands are in my hair–his tongue is in my mouth. I think the earth stopped spinning.
A deep ache catches me by surprise, and I find myself cravingfriction.Just before I give into the want completely, the timer goes off.
We both startle apart, and I glance at my phone. “Time’s up,” I say, my voice coming out more breathless than I intended. “We need to wash it out.”
“Should I just wash it in the sink?” he asks.
I nod toward the shower before glancing at where my legs are wrapped around his waist. I pry myself off of him and take a step back. “I’ll go out to the hall. It’ll probably be easier if you wash it out in the shower.”
Finn smiles, and it’s the most devastating thing I’ve ever seen. This is the one I don’t want to just pocket–I want to hang it on my wall and stare at it forever.
